


Summer Fire

by dlivius



Series: Teen Witch [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Magic, Magic Bond, Witch Stiles Stilinski, Witch!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 05:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2536079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dlivius/pseuds/dlivius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is still new to the whole magic thing, and having a familiar isn't making it any easier. With no real spells in his repertoire, and Peter having nothing better to do, it seems they'll have to practice what little they can... together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Fire

You’d think having a familiar would make life more interesting, but Stiles isn’t even near ready to tackle the kind of big magic that requires a familiar’s grounding. So mostly, it’s just meant a whole summer of being stalked by Peter Hale, getting impromptu lunches with Peter Hale, spending library hours dragging an unwilling and yet uninvited Peter Hale around the mythology section, and attempting to ignore Peter Hale’s presence in his bedroom. Stiles has been less than thrilled at the prospect.

_Why even get a familiar now if I can’t do anything cool._ He’d moaned at one of his super-secret, no Peter Hale’s allowed, meetings with Deaton. They were meetings, not classes because Deaton was too cryptic to actually _teach._

_Strong bonds can only be created by time and strife._ Deaton had replied and Stiles had groaned loudly to show his displeasure. In case anyone hadn’t noticed.

“I don’t suppose you have anything I could read, Octavia Butler, Vonnegut, or maybe Nabokov? Something palatable?” Peter somehow manages to convey every ounce of boredom he feels with just his voice. As he had the eight thousand other times he’d complained from where he laid sprawled across Stiles’ bed while the teen tried to brush up on his algebra.

For lack of response, and energy to make sarcastic comments, Stiles chucks a Neil Gaiman at the werewolf.

“Well,” Peter huffs out from the room behind Stiles, and the bed creaks as he moves. “After you re-read the quadratic formula for the fifth time, we’re going to learn manners.”

Stiles closes his eyes and does not count to ten. He really doesn’t. Instead he imagines some therapist who strangely looks like a 50 year old version of Ms. Morell telling Derek to count to ten when he feels angry, so that the werewolf can have the information in his mental guide book ready to hand out to Stiles when three days into the whole familiar bond the teen bursts into his loft half-murderous half-crying tears of frustration.

“ _Neverwhere,_ ” Peter purrs. “Seems accurate considering the amount of progress you’re making studying,” the werewolf might add something like _or finding anything useful to do with your magic_ but Stiles ignores that part. Personally, he thinks even just calling up his magic to feel it bloom in his chest like a personal garden of warmth is useful. At least, it helps him keep from murdering Peter. 

“You seem to fail to grasp the concept of studying,” Stiles replies. He tries to sound as bored as Peter, but mostly it just comes off irritated and fussy. He flicks to one of the other tabs open in his browser. Might as well give his brains and eyes a quick rest.

“It’s the summer.” Peter says.

Stiles does not sigh. He does not. He wants to, but he doesn’t.

“I’m trying to get into Pre-Calculus,” he says. Peter gives a small noise of acknowledgement and Stiles cringes to think what will come next, because Peter is Peter and he never leaves an”thing alone. Stiles included.

“So you can sit and pine over the Martin girl?” The words make Stiles tense. “That doesn’t look like calculus to me,”

“Lydia,” Stile corrects, turning to glare at the werewolf sitting on the edge of his bed, book in hand. Peter’s full attention, however, was on the teen and his computer. “That’s none of your business, and I’m taking a break.”

“From pining or from studying?” Peter asks motioning with the book and Stiles frowns at the werewolf.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Stiles asks.

“Since Beacon Hills is sickeningly quiet and pleasant recently? No.” Peter grins his wolfish smile. Stiles wants to punch him. While he can agree that it’s been quiet recently, he can’t agree that he’s bored. Not trying to save someone or his own life is actually a welcome change of pace for Stiles, really. He’s seventeen, he doesn’t want to grow up too fast.

“If I switch to reading about witches and their familiars will you quit your bitching?” Stiles asks, venom in his tone. Somehow it only makes Peter’s eyes flicker with amusement.

“Perhaps,” Peter sets the book aside and rests his hands on his knees. “Do we get to try anything?”

Stiles doesn’t grace that with an answer. The reason they _haven’t_ tried anything together since, well, joining forces or whatever is because Stiles hasn’t had a full grasp of his magic yet. Or really, how magic works even. Deaton could go toe to toe with a sphinx and Stiles would still put his money on the vet.

Stiles gets up and crosses the room to dig in his book bag. He finally finds the leather bound book and pulls it out. It isn’t ancient, but it’s not exactly new press either. The leather more for class and show than because there was no other means of binding the book. _This is your bible to magic. Every necessity you will need is in this._ These were the least cryptic words Stiles had heard the vet ever utter, outside of _Scott can you feed the cats?_

“Let’s see what the bib-lay has to say,” Stiles half sang as he unwinds the cord and turns back towards the werewolf. Peter is probably rolling his eyes, not that Stiles cares, really.

“I would have thought you’d exhausted the knowledge from that book by now,” Peter muses.

“Hardly looked at this section, Deaton gave me another book when we started,” Stiles says, not looking up from where his eyes were zipping across lines of black times new roman. He moved back to his desk seat, meanwhile picking up the slim square orange book off a mountainous stack of other books and stray papers. He tosses this Peter’s way and sits.

“ _You’re familiar and You,_ ” Peter reads. “Oh look, it’s a picture book. It even has a cartoon witch with a pointy hat, how juvenile.”

Stiles sticks his tongue out at the werewolf only to get a heavy sigh and _fitting_ in response.

The room falls silent as Stiles reads to himself, and he is thankful that despite all of Peter’s incessant talk and pestering the werewolf does shut up when it comes to magic. Everything else, insignificant. Magic, means actually letting Stiles read and digest. 

“ _For the already bonded novice, a familiar can provide a conduit to help open up ones magic more quickly and with less concentration. However, such help can turn into dependency and dismantle the novices ability do so alone._ ” Stiles reads, chews the side of his lip and looks up to find Peter watching him with raised eyebrows.

“Are you having trouble opening up your magic?” Peter asks, voice deadly calm even as his lips curl up in a smirk.

“I am not above reporting you for sexual harassment of a minor,” Stiles warns and the werewolf just laughs, eyes doing that twinkling thing again.

“Please Stiles, unless you have legs like Melissa McCall hiding in those pants of yours, I believe we’re safe.” Peter hums and Stiles frowns.

“Leave Mrs. McCall _and_ her legs out of this.” He huffs, before tapping his fingers against the book and glancing around his room. “It is… difficult to do though,”

“Oh?” Peter makes a noise that sounds way too interested. “Are you, Stiles Stilinski, having trouble figuring something out?” It’s mean spirited teasing, because Peter doesn’t do worried. Of that, Stiles is certain.

“There’s a learning curve,” Stiles says and the werewolf gives a slim smile.

“So, what? Do I just need to touch you?” Peter reaches out as he says it and barely rests his fingertips on Stiles knee.

Immediately Stiles’ is full of silky warmth, and his head is swimming. Compared to the syrupy slow way it takes for Stiles to open his magic, this feels like his chest is bursting. He can’t help but pull back away from Peter, still too shocked at the connection there and the way it strengthened after the bonding ceremony.

Peter frowns at him and Stiles takes a deep breath, clearing his head of the fuzzy leftovers from a burst of magic and trying to bring his internal temperature back down. He knows that it was a gradual change and not the explosive burst it felt like, yet it still takes seconds as compared to the hours of Stiles concentrating enough to do so on his own. It was a little much to adjust.

“The instructions are for contact free conduction.” Stiles brushes his knee-jerk reaction off with a quick explanation.

“I’m an electrical outlet,” Peter sighs.

“A hairy electrical outlet that signed up for this,” Stiles reminds the werewolf and there’s something soft to the smirk Peter gives him in return. Blue eyes dancing under the ceiling light.

“So, no touching,” Peter says holding up his hands. “What then? Listen to the sound of my voice?”

“If I have to do any more of that I might kill myself,” Stiles mutters.

“Yes, whisper asides to yourself it’s not like I have superior hearing,” Peter replies and Stiles levels a glare at him. “If not voice, proximity? No touching, but simply being close?” Peter suggests, shifting further to onside of the end of the bed and patting the space next to him.

Stiles chews his lip and glances to the book. It really offers nothing that helps him. Most of working with magic is individually suited and working with a familiar is bond specific, so it can only offer ideas for how to continue. In the list of ideas for contact free conduction are both sound and proximity.

“Alright,” Stiles caves and moves from his seat in the desk chair to the other corner of the bed. He crosses his legs under him and turns to face Peter, cradling the book in his lap.

There was a suggestion there that caught Stiles eye, not that he was looking forward to mentioning it to Peter. Still…

“Eye contact?” Stiles offers weakly. Peter raises his eyebrows. “It suggests it,” 

“Shh, don’t make excuses, you just like gazing into my sky blue eyes,” Peter teases.

“Only to remind myself how dead you are inside.” Stiles quips and Peter spreads a grin. Despite both of their snark, they managed to lock gazes. It only takes a moment before the silence is broken.

“So what all do I need to do?” Peter asks.

“Nothing.” Stiles says. “Just let me focus and try to conjure a spell I’ve been working on.”

“What kind of spell?” Peter asks, and very clearly makes the attempt not to raise his eyebrows to dramatically least he break their eye contact by distracting Stiles.

“An elemental one, my dear.” Stiles lips twitch in a smirk and Peter nearly breaks eye contact. His blue eyes twitch as if he wants to follow the movement, like a predator animal.

“I always saw you more as Watson than Sherlock,” Peter replies.

“Shut it,” Stiles says and Peter does. Surprisingly, yet unsurprisingly because it is magic and Peter will be quiet for magic.

Stiles isn’t sure he’s every given anything so much undivided attention as he’s giving Peter’s eyes right now. He probably has, but focusing on it makes it seem as if time is so much longer than it is. Of course Stiles has slipped from actually making eye contact to sort of dazedly staring. Noticing the pale blues that unfurl around Peter’s pupil like spider webs, or gossamer. He tries to keep his mind clear, to only take in the color of those eyes, the glossy liquid surface or the way the blackness of pupils make you feel like you’re falling down a bottomless pit.

Deaton has made it a point to use meditation to help guide Stiles into opening his magic. Which, Stiles is pretty sure has more to do with his add than magic itself. It helps though, giving Stiles something to focus on like breathing or his beating heart. Something easy to let his mind drift in consciousness and have a greater awareness for his body. It helps him feel the small seed of magic in his chest, dead center. The area he has to coax into growing outwards, unfurling like petals and spreading through his body so he can ask it to do things.

Peter’s eyes remind him of sequined party dresses, the way they catch the light and throw it every direction when the werewolf is amused. They remind him of pitchers of water, swimming pools, or bathtubs. That helps, Stiles finds, thinking of the color as water when he already associates his magic so much with plants. He can already start to feel the warmth stir and grow in his chest, and without looking at the time he knows it’s been quicker than when he tries to do it alone. Yet, still slower than when Peter touches him and shocks it out of him.

The tingle sets in at a slow ebb and flow in time with Stiles breaths, with Peter’s too if he dared look to see that they’d fallen in sync. Stiles doesn’t look. Instead he keeps from closing his eyes, used to doing this with closed eyes and meditation, he tries to keep eye contact and the daydream lull while also focusing on his waste paper basket beside his desk and the igniting spell he’d chosen to attempt as his first real magic. Deaton’s approval still pending.

It was a small spell, really. Stiles wasn’t capable of getting really any flame strong enough to light a candle. He could get a lick of flame, but usually was so distracted by his handiwork it extinguished immediately. He wasn’t going to burn the house down, of that he was sure. 

Stiles felt the warmth spread to his shoulders and hips. He felt comfortable, his magic easing out to fill his shape. It wasn’t a very familiar feeling yet, but he was getting there with practice. He followed the trail of one silver-blue web in Peter’s eyes when they flared vibrant blue. 

Stiles practically jumped at the change of human to wolf eyes, his magic surged before snuffing out completely. Peter was laughing, eyes having returned back to normal and Stiles opened his mouth to snap when he caught a whiff of smoke.

“You get flushed when your magic comes out,” Peter lulls but Stiles is too busy ignoring him and whipping around to grab something to smother the small trash can fire out with. “Never let an opportunity pass untouched.”

Stiles chokes the flames out with a handful of more papers and turnes to shoot a glare at the werewolf smirking at him from the bed. He’s saved from having to say anything when his phone buzzes harshly on the desk. Plucking it up Stiles finds a text from Lydia.

The Goddess: Study Session?

A second follows it in an instant.

The Goddess: Don’t. Bring. Him.

Stiles feels a smile touch his lips. He types back with one hand as the other is still in the trashcan holding down smoking papers. 

Stiles: gladly.

**Author's Note:**

> Wasn't going to make this a series. Then I drank a whole pot of coffee in one sitting...


End file.
